


Bad At Mornings (But Good At This)

by wakandan_wardog



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: "Now Kiss!" Nile (Probably), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Baker Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Barista Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Flirting, Fluff, Keane Needs To Catch A Clue, M/M, Nicolo di Genova Thinks It's Adorable, Nile Is Absolutely The Best, Nile Just Has To Laugh, Yusuf al-Kaysani Is Terrible At Mornings, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28292466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandan_wardog/pseuds/wakandan_wardog
Summary: The only way Joe gets through being utterly terrible at mornings is with copious amounts of caffeine at his favorite cafe, best served by the (steaming) hot Italian Barista, Nico. If there's more on the menu, he doesn't know it (yet). Luckily, Nile is tired of her boss pining for the local artist, and of the creepy ex-military guy that constantly comes in to flirt. She sees an opportunity, and she (at least) is awake enough to make the most of it.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 49
Kudos: 289
Collections: Secret Santa Fics





	Bad At Mornings (But Good At This)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyperboloids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperboloids/gifts).



> This is a Coffee Shop AU fic for the lovely and wonderful Gati! Merry Christmas, my TOG Server friend! I feel that Joe is perhaps more a spirit animal for several of us in the server than might be expected, but I had a lot of fun writing this fic and I hope you enjoy reading it! I had the help of spies to find out AO3 Handles and other such things, so I hope I got this right!

Yusuf al-Kaysani is singularly terrible at mornings in general, and active or functional mornings in specific. It is a fact known to both himself and those close to him, and somewhat evident to those who interact with him during the early hours of the day. For the last six months, the only way he can get through the early hours of the day is with copious amounts of caffeine, often provided by his favorite Italian barista. (Almost exclusively provided by his favorite barista. Nico’s work with an espresso machine far surpasses anything Joe himself can do with a French press or a standard percolator.) 

Said Italian Barista is a beautiful, beautiful man, with a stunning profile and eyes like the Mediterranean sea. He has a kind smile and a kinder heart, ducks his head to hide behind his bangs when he’s feeling shy, and sometimes looks at Joe like maybe, just maybe, he’ll say yes if (when) Joe (finally) asks him out to dinner. The fact that he bakes like a god and is more than willing to feed Joe’s caffeine addiction with the best coffees he’s ever had is just a bonus, as far as the artist is concerned. 

So when he shuffled up to the counter that usually has said barista and finds him absent, Joe’s three functioning brain cells threaten to riot on the spot. _‘Where’s Nico? Where’s our fresh out of the oven pastry and our lava hot espresso and our beautiful Nico?’_

His whining inner monologue was interrupted by an external voice that he wasn’t exactly familiar with. The fact that she sounded like she was pouncing on an opportunity with utter delight would ring warning bells at any other time, but in his current state, it just made him hum in confusion. 

“Is there any chance you’ve wanted to be a hero your whole life and are moderately amenable to someone making this your moment?” The beautiful black female barista asked Joe where he lingered just out of the queue line for the counter of his favorite coffee shop. 

Somewhat sunk into the swelling misery at the lack of his favorite barista -and eye-candy- Nico, Joe doesn’t quite process the words. When they finally sink in he blinked at her in bewilderment, eyes fluttering rapidly for a moment before he shook his head. “What?”

“Joe, right?” Nile asked, but it’s evidently somewhat rhetorical as she steamrolled ahead without waiting for his response. “In here every other day, lashes for days, an artist, orders coffee and chats up the boss about his homemade pastries? Skin like golden satin, adorable bedhead, and backward cap tendencies, makes delicious appreciative noises, gives good hugs energy, blah blah blah, I could go on, really, but repeating half of the things I’ve heard will give me a toothache, I swear. Besides, we’re on a bit of a time crunch. Can we skip that part? You are Joe, I’m assuming.” 

So what if he’s wearing a backward cap to cover his tousled hair and makes appreciative noises when he eats Nico’s pastries? And as a matter of fact, Joe’s hugs are the stuff of fucking _legends_ , thank you very much. Not that anyone here would have cause to know that? But mostly, all Joe can think is, _what_?

As though to explain, she flicked one hand at the sketchbook tucked under his arm, then tilted her head. “Pretty sure only Joe is our nearly-residential artist. And you’re not new, because I’ve definitely seen you before.” 

At a loss as to how else he should respond, Joe slunk up to the counter with a tentative nod. Having this conversation at a distance seemed even more mortifying, though the cafe was largely empty at the moment. “Yes, I’m Joe.” 

_‘Congratulations,’_ Joe’s inner monologue informed his brain cells. _‘You successfully made a sentence.’_

 _‘Still want Nico,’_ responded a sulky corner of his mind. Which, _true_. 

_Stop talking to yourself, Yusuf, it’s rude._

“Good, good,” she muttered, and the young woman might think he’s an idiot but in his defense, Joe certainly felt like one right in the moment, honestly unsure half of what she said made sense. Or rather, it did make sense, but it was utterly impossible Joe heard what he thought he heard. 

_Who said his skin was satin?_

While he stood there like an idiot, the female barista continued to speak. “So, Joe, how about it? Wanna be a hero? It’ll probably keep you in free coffee and pastries for a year or so, assuming the thing with the boss doesn’t work out, and net it for you for life. But to be honest, based on what I’ve heard, you’re a shoo-in. No contest.” 

“I have no idea what is happening right now,” Joe admitted weakly, thinking longingly of his basic plan: get coffee, see Nico, eat a sinfully delicious butterscotch loaf. The lack of all those things means there’s a weak, whining voice in his head that is likely originating from his caffeine-deprived and somewhat morning-challenged brain. Joe sympathized with it most ardently. 

It seems like the barista abruptly understood that Joe is morning deficient because she cast aside all attempts at subtlety. 

“Your favorite barista is in peril,” Nile - _her name is Nile_ , Joe remembered- said with utmost sincerity. “It would make my day, and probably his week if you could at least pretend to be a knight in shining armor for a bit.” 

  
“Nile,” Joe interrupted; a mix of reluctant and desperate. “Lovely Nile. It is morning, which I am very bad at, and there is a distinct lack of Nico at my favorite cafe, a prime Nico-watching spot. You can understand this is very hard on me. I will be honest with you. I need a shot of espresso and then two minutes of condensed backstory and context. And then we’ll go from there, yes?”

They stared at each other in silence for several heartbeats, Nile assessing and Joe pleading. 

“You know what? I think I can do that,” Nile eventually laughed, and quickly enough her hands fluttered over the shining espresso machine effortlessly. She scooped espresso and tamped it down carefully, then slid the scoop into place with a sharp look in Joe’s direction. “Ok, backstory starting now, your espresso is in the works. Nico, your favorite barista, owns this place. He’s my boss, and I love him to the ends of the earth, but I am a very devout lesbian and he would never sleep with an employee, so there’s no way we’re successfully faking any sort of relationship. Not to mention Nico is gay and hung up on a certain someone. With me so far?” 

“Maybe?” Joe offered tentatively. _Hung up on who?_

“You really are bad at mornings… It’s adorable and sad.” Nile observed as she lifted a short cup to the spout and let the espresso begin to drip. “Anyway, back to the facts. There is a very ardent, stalker who thinks he’s a suitor. He has been chasing Nico for a couple of weeks now. It started out as just a little off, and he’s slowly escalated and it’s gotten, worse? He’s ex-military, I think, good looking, honestly… He might even have had a chance at a one night stand if my boss hadn’t fallen for this gorgeous artist and pledged to marry him and possibly adopt an army of babies, or dogs, together. _Capisci_?”

“Pretty sure I’m dreaming, espresso soon?” Joe asked hopefully as his very simple morning-brain fixated on _‘Nico’s the boss’_ and _‘fallen for this gorgeous artist’_. “Ah… _si_? _Ti capisco_.” 

“Confused but willing to try in more than one language… You’re going to fit right in,” Nile decided in a soft tone, amused as she gently slid the cup across the counter. “Drink up, adorable and exhausted in two languages. You have a baker to save.” 

Joe had gratefully accepted the cup and took a sip of the espresso, just this side of scalding, and then gave himself a little shake in an attempt to kickstart his brain. “Nile… Is Nico okay?”

“Keane isn’t dumb enough to attack him in his own place; if that’s what you’re asking.” Nile offered, cautious in a way Joe didn’t like. “But he’s getting more insistent, and he was about to make a scene on the floor… So Nico retreated back to the office, and Keane followed him to continue the conversation.” 

“And they’re back there now?” Joe wondered as he sipped more intently, finally feeling the caffeine as it began to kick in. He hated everything about the idea of this Keane chasing Nicky back to his office. 

“Maybe five minutes before you walked in, they headed back. So, your timing is pretty good, Prince Charming.” Nile grinned. 

“Right, right,” Joe muttered as he downed the espresso and then slid the cup back across the counter. “So, a knight in shining armor was requested?”

“A knight in a backward cap is good enough.” Nile countered, as she took the cup and gently discarded it in the to-wash bin. “You ready?”

Joe hummed thoughtfully, then raised a hand to the zipper on his hoodie and peeled it down. He wore a clinging black tank top underneath, smeared with paint swaths in shades of blue and green, a legacy of his attempts to capture the changing landscape of Nico’s gaze. Between that and the worn, fitted jeans he’d thrown on after staying up all night painting, he knew he made a specific kind of picture. To be fair, he’s been complimented on the jeans before; he knew it was exactly the look he wanted to go for in this scenario. 

“How about one in paint-splattered clothes?” Joe wondered with a grin, winking as he handed over the hoodie but kept his sketchbook close. 

“Nico certainly won’t be complaining,” Nile remarked with amusement. She wordlessly stashed the jacket and then tilted her head in the direction of the short hall that led to the office. “Shall we?” 

“I think I’ve got it from here,” Joe winked at her. “Anything that happens after I walk in that door is your fault, though. And if Nico tells me not to come back, you’ll be responsible for smuggling me my daily caffeine fix.” 

“That’s fair... In return, I’ll ask that you do not have sex with my boss in the office.” Nile countered as she folded her arms over her chest. “Take him home instead.” 

If Joe stumbled at that and felt off-balance all the way to the office door, well, he is very bad at functioning in the morning. Nile better not laugh about it. 

(Nile thinks she won’t stop smiling for the rest of her shift. Her boss is a bit of an idiot, but so is his new boyfriend, so she’s pretty sure it’ll all work out.) 

*

The hallway that led to the office was a relatively short walk, past the twin doors to restrooms and what he assumed was a supply closet. Joe lingered outside of the half-closed office door for a moment, head tilted to catch an idea of the conversation occurring within. He could hear a low, insistent tone from a stranger, pushy in a way that told him that the man -Keane?- wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted. 

Joe leaned to one side and peered through the open door to get the lay of the land. Nico -Joe’s gorgeous Nico- was leaning on the end of his desk with his arms folded over his chest, eyes narrowed in warning at the only other man in the room with him. The Italian was wearing dark denim jeans that looked new, and a clean navy button-down shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. 

Keane, Joe recognized the ex-military man from the shape of his shoulders and the way he pressed into Nico’s personal space, either unwilling to take no for an answer or just that damn clueless about how to function in normal society. He looked like he works in office security in his civilian life, wearing dark cargo pants and a fitted polo. Maybe private security, considering his lack of tact with people. Joe wondered if it isn’t a bit of all three, the expression in Nico’s ocean eyes has rendered them positively frigid and Joe was willing to bet that if Keane pressed an inch closer he’d find himself on the wrong end of Nico’s temper. 

Considering the Italian, Joe’s pretty sure that’s nowhere anyone with sense wants to be. So he squared his shoulders, drew a deep breath, and nudged the door wide, striding boldly into the room. “ _Hayati_ , where are you hiding?” 

“Joe,” Nico breathed in surprise, straightening from his casual lean against the far corner of the desk. Happiness leapt like a spark in his bright eyes. “I didn’t know you’d be in today.”

Joe didn’t miss the appreciative sweeping glance Nico gives him, the way ocean eyes lingered on his bare arms, and then stroked over each patch of color scattered over the clinging black fabric of his tank top. The artist beamed, giving a playful flex of his muscles and offering a smirk when it redirected the Italian’s eyes back to his face. 

“Nico, please,” Joe grinned, striding across the room without hesitation. “You should know I can’t stay away from you.” 

“More like you can’t function without the caffeine,” Nico teased, swaying forward as if pulled by some invisible thread. “Did Nile send you back?”

“Mmmm,” Joe agreed, coming to a halt closer than was strictly polite. “She knows what I want.” 

“Oh?” Nico grinned. “And what, pray tell, is that?” 

“Just you, _tesoro_ ,” Joe teased, trying to telegraph his intentions as he placed his sketchbook on the desk and leaned in, brushing their lips together softly. “And this… Mmm, better than any espresso.” 

“Yusuf,” Nico whined softly, using a name he hadn’t spoken since day one. Between his shocked eyes and his reaching hand, he had no trouble reeling Joe back in for another kiss. 

The second kiss Nico initiated, the brush of his mouth a little more insistent. Joe let himself fall into the embrace willingly, sliding a hand over Nico’s hip, reeling him just a little bit closer as he let his lips part and stroked Nico’s lips with the tip of his tongue. Nico whined with it, lips parting to offer Joe a tempting taste of his mouth. Joe couldn’t help but accept, stealing a quick stroking taste of Nico’s mouth and tongue before he withdrew. There was a lingering flavor of lemon and sugar, a legacy of whatever pastry Nico had been working on this morning. Whatever it was, Joe wanted more of it, even if it was likely to taste best when sampled from Nico’s mouth. 

“Mmm, there’s my Nicoló,” Joe hummed when they parted, chuckling as he watched a flare of pink bloom along the proud cheekbones. He couldn’t help but lift his free hand, thumbing across the color. “I missed you too.” 

“Missed you,” Nico mumbled his reply, ducking his head slightly but leaning into the caressing hand. 

Joe so badly wanted to continue the conversation, but he was abruptly reminded of their audience when the man in question made a disgruntled, huffing sound. 

“Oh, still here are we? You can go,” Joe gave a shark-like grin, cutting a sideways glance to Keane. “My boyfriend and I have dinner plans to discuss, and this is an employees-only area anyway. Seeing as you’re not one or dating one, I don’t see any reason for you to stick around.” 

Keane puffed up for a moment, looking like maybe he’s about to argue, but instead, he sliced a look toward Nico and how shyly pleased he seems to be within Joe’s hold. The wind seems to be taken right out of his sails at the sight, and for a moment he seems to wilt. He gives Joe a last, lingering glare and spins on his heel, stomping through the open door and down the hallway. A moment later Joe can hear the distant, overly cheerful farewell Nile bids, and the jangling of bells on the front door that indicates someone has departed. 

He turned back to Nico with a grin, leaning into the desk. “So anyway… Hi.” 

“Hi,” Nico mumbled, ocean eyes bright, cheeks dusted pink. “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah…” Joe felt his grin widen until he was practically beaming. “Yeah, speaking of. Dinner, tonight?” 

“Yes. I’d love to,” Nico returned without hesitation, giving an adorable little affirmative nod as if to drive it home. “Wherever you want.” 

“How about you come over, and I cook for you, for once?” Joe countered. “Pay you back for all the pastries.” 

“I’d love that,” Nico admitted, drifting forward. “If it’s not too much trouble.” 

“No trouble at all, _habibi_ , no trouble at all.” Joe dropped a quick kiss on the tip of his nose. “Anything for you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Capisci- Do you understand?  
> Si? Ti capisco.- Yes. I understand you.  
> Hayati- My Life  
> Tesoro- Treasure  
> Habibi- My Love/My Dear
> 
> Special thanks to Madi, who helps and cheer-reads and in general makes my day, every day. I hope the fic was enjoyed, and I love you TOG babes!


End file.
